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Batgirl Undone
[Please pardon my still very primitive art manipulation skills]
Batgirl watched as the three thugs surrounded her. She had to concentrate on how she would take them out and ignore the distraction from being surrounded by bright lights on a stage, probably in front of an audience. To them it may be some kind of performance but not to her or the thugs. They were real, and only her eidetic memory allowed her to recall them as some of the hundreds of criminals she had put away. Now, thanks to Gotham's new lenient approach to criminal justice, they were all out, free as birds, and bent on revenge. This was a grudge match to them, and it was her chance to take out her anger, replacing her humiliation with righteous violence.
Her costume was a cheap, knock-off except for her real utility belt (emptied of its contents of course) and her real cowl. The only addition was a tight-fitting steel collar around her neck, partially hidden by her cape.
Finally one of the thugs got close enough and she launched into a flying kick that connected solidly with his jaw, knocking him back several feet and down, stunned. She landed on the balls of her feet and immediately spun to face her other attackers. She was able to step a quarter step back, feeling the whoosh of air as that thug's fist sailed by her, but she was already into her next move, reaching forward to grab his forearm as it sailed by, twisting her body to pull in the direction of the punch with all her weight.
There was no way for the him to stop his momentum, and he overbalanced, falling to his hands and knees as the third thug, caught in mid-charge towards Batgirl, began to fall over him, only for his face to be met by Batgirl's rising knee. Three thugs down but not out. She wanted to slam her heel into the back of the elbow on the guy all fours, shattering his arm and taking him out of the fight, but she knew that wasn't allowed. Instead she took out her anger by putting so much force into a kick to his ribs that he rolled over at least 3 times. Ultimately ineffective as it might be, it definitely felt good to do that.
She turned back to the first attacker who was now on his feet again. He took a more controlled swing at her, but she took advantage of their size difference by ducking under his fist and pummeling his stomach half a dozen times before he could even think. That doubled him over, gasping for breath and a leg sweep took him down.
She turned to face her third opponent, who was rubbing his chin against the growing bruise her knee had given it and glowering at her. There was pure menace in that look, but not skill. His brain and body weren't calculating move and countermove at blinding speed as she was. He moved closer, counting on his size to be intimidating. She started to raise her leg at the knee, faking a blow to the groin. Instead of trying to throw either his hands or legs in front of that vulnerable area, he turned smoothly on his back foot away from the blow that never came and tried to sweep her legs out from under her, but she used her dancer's skill to jump high into the air over his sweeping leg. Not bad, but not nearly good enough. With him off balance, it was easy for her to sweep his legs out from under him, landing him on his ass. She moved quickly into position, straddling his legs as she swung a powerful blow at that wounded chin. He surprised her by throwing his head back, so her blow missed. He must have miscalculated though and he fell all the way back, slamming the back of his head into the floor, replacing his menacing look with a dazed one.
She wanted to pummel him, but before her fist could come down the first time, the shock came, and her muscles spasmed, refusing to obey her orders. As she could only tremble in her paralyzed state, one of her opponents had recovered enough to reach around her from behind, removing her utility belt, yanking her zipper down to her navel, and pulling her uniform over her shoulders down to her elbows, trapping her currently useless arms. The villain she had been straddling immediately rose, wrapping his legs around her thighs using one strong hand to push her head up and back by her neck, cutting off her airway.
As she was about to lose consciousness, he released her neck, and she doubled over, gasping for breath. A hard slap across her now naked breasts disrupted her fevered breathing, causing her to gasp in even as she was attempting to empty her lungs for another quick breath. It seemed like forever before she had gotten enough air, and now her muscles finally began to return to her control, but that was way too late.
She found herself completely naked now except for her cowl and the steel collar. She was draped over one thug's lap as he held her wrists tightly together and lifted high in the air behind her forcing her upper torso painfully down. She grimaced in pain, but one of the others yanked her face up by her hair and muffled her startled scream by pushing his dick in her mouth. His fingers pinching her nose made clear that any attempt to bite him would be met with suffocation, and he only let her breathe when he saw the surrendering look in the eyes that were forced to look up at him.
As if that weren't enough, the third crook's prick was forcing its way into her, as his naked thighs pushed hers apart. The one on whose lap she hung, contented himself with spanking her in rhythm with his partner's thrusts, occasionally pulling up on her arms to hurt her a little more.
The total control that these three merciless men had over her body fed the fantasies she feared so much, and she came at least twice before either of them did. Every thrust weakened her control and her will as her cunt gushed and squeezed greedily and she sucked the other's cock wantonly, eagerly trying to get him to cum in her mouth.
By the time they were done with her, having fucked her over and over in many different positions, she had nothing left. Someone set her limp body face-down on the stage, then lifted her by her hips until she was face-down, on her knees, her naked ass and vulva obscenely displayed for anyone to see, and she didn't even have the strength to move.
“Help me. God help me,” she whimpered to herself until someone finally turned out the lights.
She found herself back in “her bedroom”. It was just a mockup, more a mockery, of her own bedroom that she might never see again. The furniture was all correct and in the proper spots. Not that there was anything in her dresser because she was never allowed clothes in here. Her closet consisted of a piece of shatterproof glass behind which hung her real costume. The only thing she had on was the steel collar that was never, could never be, removed. It had been fused together tightly around her throat by an unbreakable nano-material bond. And it would shock her like a taser, as it had in her fight, whenever her captor saw fit.
Her cowl was back in place on top of her real uniform behind the glass. It was only for wearing when her captor took her somewhere like the stage. He'd made it clear that only he knew her real identity, and when she was here, she never saw anyone else. He'd also seen to it that her father thought his Barbara was trekking through Tibet on a search for an obscure manuscript with no means of communication and no promise of when she might be back. He would miss her, but he would never think to come looking for her. Certainly not here, wherever here was.
Despite the “views” behind the bedroom windows that were just realistic renderings of the actual views from her apartment, this whole “bedroom” was solid concrete behind a thin coating of plaster to make it seem real. Her captor had gone all out. The “day” was marked by different lighting gently illuminating her windows as if the day were actually passing. There were even differing street sounds for different parts of the “day and night”. She had no guarantee that time passed here as it did outside. Her captor could be just messing with her, and that thought made her feel even more helpless.
There were multiple cameras, constantly watching her from all angles, and if she tried anything that looked like she was plotting an escape, either she was shocked by the collar, or a knockout gas came from the tiny vents in the ceiling. She had no idea how long she had been a captive here, but it had been long enough for more than a dozen staged fights followed by her humiliating defeat and her being fucked relentlessly each time. She was proud that she hadn't lost a single fight until her captor had employed the shock collar. Not that it made any difference, but she clung to what she could.
Her captor had deigned to explain the rules to her once. He rented her out as Batgirl to be taken down by whoever had the money. No one was allowed to remove her cowl—that was for him alone, and only he knew her true identity. It would be a fair fight—until her foredoomed loss of course, so her opponents could have their way with her. Neither her attackers nor she were allowed to do permanent injury to the other. After each fight she was given time to heal any wounds and bruises. Her captor was quite gentle and solicitous in nursing her back into shape. Her ravagers were charged extra if it took too long for her body to recover. That was part of the deal. They had to put down an extra deposit that her captor would refund fully if she recovered within 48 hours. It was all quite a tidy little package, and she had found no way out of it so far.
She had been beaten and even captured before in her career as Batgirl, of course. That dangerous aspect of being a superheroine even turned her on. But no one had ever planned so well to keep her prisoner long-term and even use her to generate the revenue to pay for her captivity. That's why he takes such good care of me. I'm a business asset, she thought, bowing her head in humiliation. She had never felt so helpless for so long.
Soon enough the door opened, and her captor strode in carrying the dinner tray. She had gotten used to the one-meal-a-day routine. She never got anything else. Just one more thing she no longer had any control over. Even as he seated himself at the table, she had assumed her position on her haunches, her hands respectfully behind her back, to his right and facing him. He cut a bite sized chunk of the steak, dipped into soy sauce and smiled.
“Excellent,” he said, smiling and cutting himself another piece. She tried to keep her face as stoic as possible to not betray her hunger. He didn't use chains or whips. This was how he tortured her. Finally at the fourth morsel, he held it out to her, and she eagerly took it into her mouth. It was delicious, or was it just that she had finally been allowed food? She was never allowed to touch silverware of course, so every morsel of the meal they always shared had to be fed to her. She wasn't bound, but she knew better than to move her hands from their position submissively behind her back.
If she did anything wrong, she would be punished. Not in any way so crude as physical torture. No, there would be no contact at all for 72 hours, and no sleep. Every time she tried to drift off, there would be just enough stimulus, either annoying noise, or even mild shocks from the collar until at the end, she was a mewling, whimpering, ball of remorse, begging forgiveness and pledging to never disobey again. It was all very civilized but brutally effective nonetheless.
Sometimes she wished he would bind her in actual physical restraints, so she had something to strain against. She had no doubt he was in the audience for her performances. How else would he know when to shock her? Despite his being so possessive of her, did he enjoy watching her being repeatedly raped into a stupor by opponents she had just beaten, until he pulled the rug from under her with the shock collar? She always fought furiously even though she knew the fight was rigged for her to always lose. It gave her one brief moment of freedom to let her anger out physically, to be Batgirl however briefly, and she clung to that like it was a fraying rope that she was dangling by from a high cliff.
As he finished the meal, generously giving her the last bite, he pulled his chair back to face her.
“Stand up.”
She complied of course.
“Turn around.”
He didn't need to add the “slowly”. It was her post action display, and he wanted to examine every inch of her.
“Very good! For all they put you through, they didn't leave any bruises. Even the redness on your ass from all that spanking is already faded.”
That last remark made her other cheeks burn in embarrassment as she completed the circle.
“Show me,” was all he needed to say, and she widened her stance and spread her lower lips. “More closely,” he added, and she turned, knelt down, and reached back to her upraised crotch and spread her lips as wide as she could. She grimaced into the carpet as he forced her to hold the position, much longer than necessary, she was sure. Her fingers trembled at holding her cunt so fully open, but he never touched her. He never did. She couldn't understand why he wouldn't touch her even though he knew he could do anything he wanted to her.
“Very good,” he finally said, “Looks like those boys are getting their full deposit back. You can resume your position.”
She went back to her submissive pose on her haunches.
“I don't doubt your pretty sore down there, however. That's fine, we don't have any bouts scheduled for the next 2 days.”
She held her head erect as he slowly took in her naked body. She'd seen that look in men before, and she knew that his not touching her wasn't from a lack of desire. Finally he asked the question he always ended their interaction with.
“Is there anything I can do that would please you?”
As long as she'd been his captive she had always answered, “Free me,” and he had just left without a word. Today she said, “Asparagus...Master.”
The surprise on his face was only partially hidden by the smile that her using the word, “Master” had elicited.
“Asparagus?'
“Can we have some asparagus next meal...Sir?”
“If that would please you, little one,” he replied, standing and gently lifting her eyes to meet his with a single finger under her chin. It was the first time he'd actually touched her since she'd been his captive, and she could imagine, almost feel, his erection that was just at the level where she could service him. She could even smell his manly scent as her chin trembled a bit, but she dared not look away from her Captor's eyes, and she merely blinked her assent.
At that, he turned, collected the tray, and walked towards the door that automatically opened at no discernible signal from him, and she was alone again. She didn't move, not even her hands that she still held in their submissive pose behind her back.
That was the first time since her captivity that anyone had touched her gently, in a human way rather than in attempt to grope, fuck, or hurt her. Her eyes closed involuntarily, and she could still feel the spot under her chin that he had touched. She would have happily let him take her right then. She had never thought just a soft, gentle, human touch could be so erotic after weeks of only being touched by brutal enemies who wanted to hurt her. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. What is he doing to me?
She threw herself onto the bed and curled up in a fetal position, trying hard not to sob. Still, moisture glistened in the eyes that she buried in the mattress to hide them from the cameras. When she finally got herself together enough to try to sleep, she had to fight the urge to masturbate while imagining her Captor gently and masterfully making love to her. She knew he never punished her for masturbating. Hell, maybe he even enjoyed watching it, but she didn't want him to see her this aroused right now, even if he couldn't really know that she would have been doing it thinking about his gentle touch.
The next night as he came in with dinner, she took up her slave position, trying not to look eager. He actually made me asparagus! Her mouth was watering both at knowing she would taste asparagus again, and that he was actually doing what she had humbly asked of him. Of course he teased her first by eating several bites of the delicious-looking chicken then feeding one to her. She was used to that, but was mesmerized by the long fingers of his hands that, last time, he had finally deigned to touch her with ever so slightly.
He finally offered her some of the asparagus. Oh, it was delicious! Done to perfection. She closed her eyes as she savored it.
“Oh, Master! So buttery, fully done, yet crisp. It's perfect! Thank you.” She hadn't meant to say “Master”, but it just came out so naturally from her joy at getting a request granted by him, and not in a shoddy way, but done to perfection. It seemed he actually wanted to please her, and that made her breasts tingle.
He ate and fed her, mostly in silence, but he could not hide the smile at how she responded with such joy to his granting her request. She watched him in rapt attention, trying to read the tiniest acknowledgement of her in his body language. Couldn't he see how hard her nipples were? They were actually on the edge of being painful. That's how much she wanted those gentle, graceful hands to stroke them.
When he finished, he said, “Your next bout is tomorrow night,” as he stood up. She looked up at him but made no other move or acknowledgement of what he had said, as he looked down at her with what she could tell was an admiring gaze.
“Is there anything I can do that would please you?”
Take my tit in your hand and lift me to my feet as you slide your other hand down my bare back to cup my ass and make sweet love to me, is what she wanted to say, especially with the prospect of being roughly groped and raped tomorrow night ahead of her. She ached for a gentle, loving touch. It had been so long since she had been lovingly touched, and the prospect of more clumsy and painful abuse that lay before her for tomorrow night, only increased her longing for something gentle, something real.
“Would you tell me your name?” is what she actually asked. She knew him only as her captor. He had never given her his name, or title, or even a supervillain identity to call him.
He cupped her cheek with those long fingers of his, brushed his thumb across her lips, smiled, and said, “You haven't earned that yet,” and a moment later he was gone.
What did he mean by that? What else did she have to do to “earn” knowing his name. Clearly he didn't think she was broken enough. He wanted her to think of him only as Master. He obviously liked it when she called him that. How many more “bouts”, gang bangs is more like it, did she have to endure, before he would start to treat her as a human being? Or was he never going to do that? Never slip those long fingers under her boobs, over her nipples, down her sides to her hips, then….
Oh fuck! Who am I? Am I anyone anymore? Or just his helpless business asset, his tool to be used, then cleaned, lubricated, and put away until next time? Just a wrench for him to wrap his sensuous hand around and manipulate to make his living? It's been months. I'm on my own now. This is my life.
